Kitten
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: Conner wanted peace, quiet…solitude. She wanted to escape from her stalker ex-boyfriend and write her next novel without being interrupted. Too bad the camp she chose was home to the infamous, hockey-masked killer Jason Voorhees. Rated for mentions of abuse, self harm, attempted suicide and gore
1. Chapter 1

~Chapter O.n.e~

THE RINGING OF her beat-up phone sent 23-year-old Conner Pierre's heart skittering. Without bothering to even so much as glance at the caller ID, she powered down her phone and stuck in the glove compartment, slamming it shut. In the rearview mirror, she could see the boxes with all her belongings as she pulled her old truck into the campsite.

Nestled by a valley of green trees was the sign of the most infamous place in New Jersey. _Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake. _"Home sweet home," she muttered, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, as she turned off the engine, oblivious to the massive figure watching her.

* * *

He watched her drive up in her car, a beat-up, rusty pickup with a cracked back window, a huge dent in the fender and the passenger door's had duct tape running vertically down the side, several pieces branching out at the end and peeling.

She was pretty, with frizzy black hair. Her hair was long, reaching well beyond her waist, and her bangs were long, nearly hiding her blue eyes. Her skin was dark, a sharp contrast against her truck; she must've been biracial because her skin was similar to caramel. She was top-heavy and thick but not extremely overweight; it was far prettier than the girls who's ribs he could see, the ones the boys tended to bring.

**She's pretty,**Pamela told him, **much more than those stick-thin girls. **

He nodded as the newcomer stepped out of the car, her combat boots hitting the gravel noiselessly. She was dressed in a green t-shirt with the words _game over_, a pair of worn-out, dirt-stained jeans with tears along the hem of pants legs and scuffed combat boots.

_She doesn't dress like those other bad girls._

**That's because she's a good girl, Jason, like Tina Shepard. Remember her? **

His head bobbed as the girl kicked the driver door shut, the vehicle rocking a tiny bit from the force. "Just what I need; some peace and quiet. No one screaming about me being lazy or being cooped up writing—"

"—And me talking to you. Yes, you're such a good girl!" She giggled and then there was something lunging out of the passenger window, a massive black dog with a broad chest and big brown eyes.

"I still can't believe how big you've gotten, Sandy," the girl laughed, dropping to her knees and running her hands along the dog's chest. _That's a really big dog. _**It's called a pit-bull mastiff. **"Go look around. I'll call you when I'm settled," she said to the dog and the animal took off into the woods. **Leave her and the dog alone. She's a good girl, Jason. I want you to protect her. **_I will._

* * *

"It's so beautiful here. No obnoxious kids drinking and partying—" Her words were drowned out by the roar of rap music and loud female hoots and male laughter. Teenagers.

"Really?" Conner hissed as she dropped the box containing her sweatshirts and jackets, the contents spilling out. A bubblegum pink BMW screamed up beside her, three slim girls with bleached hair and bikinis stepping out along with three boys, the tall, muscular, all-around-asshole kind. The girls stood around and batted their eyes at the boys while she stuffed her sweatshirts into their box and refolded the lid.

"Hey," called one of the boys but she ignored him and grabbed three boxes. She whistled twice and Sandy came barreling towards her. With a flick of Conner's head, Sandy snarled at the teenagers. "You wanna have some fun?" one of the boys asked while looking her up and down vulgarly.

"No." She kept her tone short and clipped.

Sandy barked, saliva specks flying all over the place as she snarled and braced herself close to the ground. "Hey, bitch, call off your mangy mutt," shrieked one of the girls, one with a pink bikini and belly button piercing and a parade of star tattoos all over her bony hip. "Oh. Actually, she's not a mutt, pure breed pit-bull mastiff. And she's _very _protective of me." She flashed the girl a smile, sharp and dangerous, warning of pain.

"Freak," muttered Pink Bikini with a scowl. It was on the tip of Conner's tongue to snap back _skank _but she held her tongue and settled back down, stroking Sandy behind her ears. The dog whined, obviously enjoying the attention. Conner allowed herself to laugh when the teens stomped away.

"I swear, Sandy girl, they crash around as gracefully as a bow-legged elephant," she laughed.

* * *

Nighttime fell and the teens were as loud as ever, drunk and high and probably doing things that their parents wouldn't be proud of. After unpacking everything, Conner stripped down, set her sweaty clothes in her laundry basket, and sank into a steaming bath with Sandy at the door.

She had soft violins playing from her iPhone dock/stereo system, relaxing her further. It felt so nice to soak after so much work. She hummed along, closing her eyes. "Sandy," Conner called when the water turned cool, "towel, please?" The obedient dog snagged a towel with her teeth off the rack and padded back to her master, who stood naked in the tub with bubbles slide off her skin.

She unplugged the drain and rinsed off the suds. Shivering, she wrapped the towel around her body, rang out her hair and piled it into a towel. "They're so disgusting," Conner complained as she sat on the bed, drying off her stomach and back. Her movements froze when she noticed the ugly scars on her skin and, for the longest time, she didn't move. Eventually, she dried off.

She slid on a pair of long flannel pajamas—white-grey and blue—and settled under the covers. "Sandy!"

The dog didn't come. Frowning, Conner crawled out of the bed, slid on some slippers and walked out of the bedroom. It was a bit cool and she shivered as she looked for her dog. "Sandy?" she called, trembling. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears.

"Sandy?"

With a noise as loud as a gunshot, the front door exploded open. Screaming, Conner backpedaled and smacked into the wall; Sandy bounded in and crouched down in front of the young woman, her body soaked with rain. "Sandy," Conner whispered as she sank down beside the rain-soaked animal. A set of heavy footsteps walking made her look up, wide-eyed; she saw the broad, tall figure of a man standing on the porch.

"It's raining," she said slowly, noticing the downpour behind him; he cocked his head. In a spur moment of kindness, she said, "Why don't you come in and hop in the shower? I'll find some dry clothes for you. Sandy, lead him to the bathroom. You can leave you clothes over the tub to dry." She got to her feet and, after discreetly pulling on a bra, busied herself with opening her packed drawers.

The man ducked inside and his head brushed the top of the ceiling; Sandy barked at him and sniffled at his leg. She then wagged her tail at him and padded off a few paces, glancing back at him as saying, "_follow me_".

Something cold and wet pressed against Conner's back and she turned, finding herself face-to-face with a damp stomach. She was tiny, only five feet tall and it really didn't help that the man in front of her was probably over six feet tall, 300 pounds of pure muscle to boot! "Sorry," she squeaked as she noticed a scent coming from him.

Metallic. He smelt like metal and, as she pulled away, she felt sticky like in the mornings when she started her period and found her bed soaked with blood. She watched him walk passed her and noticed it: the long, metal knife in his hand.

_Don't panic, _she told herself as she peeled off the sticky, bloody clothes and shoved them into the bottom of her hamper, right under her panties. "Sandy!" she called as she looked for a clean, comfy pair of pants. She wore a tank top instead of long-sleeved pajama top; it was much too hot in the cabin for long pajamas anyway.

She was just sliding into them when she saw a glimpse of skin, dark with grime and blood, in the bathroom. Rifling around for a few minutes, she pulled out a giant sail of a shirt that once belonged to her older brother and the biggest pair of sweats she owned, an XL in mens that she'd grabbed by mistake but didn't take back to Wal-Mart. She fished around until she found her boxers (they were more comfortable for lounging around in than girly shorts cause those rode up all the time) and smiled softly.

"I'm going to leave the clothes on the toilet," she said calmly and held a hand over her eyes when she walked in. She felt around for the toilet and kicked the lid down with a bit of difficulty. Once she was sure it was closed, she set the pile down and began to back out. She really should've known the floor was wet but that hadn't occurred to her.

She slipped and fell on her front with a tiny shriek; her shirt was soaked and so were her pants. "Damn it," she grumbled as she sat up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Surprise built in her chest when she saw the thick, tree-trunk legs covered in coarse hair in front of her, dripping with water and soap, dripping puddles onto the floor. "I-I just fell," she stammered as she pushed herself up off the floor, head spinning slightly.

"I'm fine, though," she added as she saw a dark, dirty hand reach down and clasp hers. He pulled her up easily. "I—I—" The words caught in her throat again and again, making her face flush.

She was all too aware of the wet, dirty man pressing the knife against her throat.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've been reading _Stay_ by Deb Caletti, which is about a girl named Clara escaping her stalker boyfriend, Christian, and moving to a little town with her father, where the past still haunts her. It's an excellent read and I partially based a bit off the book itself. I highly suggest you read it because it's a good book.

Original typset: Scala

Soundtrack: CMC- The Perfect Stallion (Is Spike Remix) by SimGretina

* * *

~Chapter T.w.o.~

"I'M SURE WE can figure something out, mister," Conner tried softly but the man simply ignored her pathetic attempt at negotiating and pressed the blade deeper against her skin. A prickle of heat raced through her veins as fear took a hold.

Sandy was sitting next to him, staring up at him calmly. If Sandy wasn't barking like crazy, this guy apparently wasn't a threat to the protective dog. "What do you want?" the scared woman asked blankly, trying not to swallow. The towel-clad man shifted, adjusting the towel on his hips with one hand. His eyes, very dark, met hers and she felt something stir, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Was it fear or attraction? She couldn't decipher.

He didn't say anything. Sandy whined softly and wove herself between their legs; her head was tilted back, eyes locked on the man. Conner felt a stab of fear. "I don't have any money," she said finally, letting her body sag against the wall. Her thighs ached and her muscles trembled.

"Could you please put on at _least _the boxers?" She hated how weak her voice sounded, hated how her Southern twang slipped in when she wasn't looking, hated how she was reverting back to the scared little girl she had been two years ago.

The man backed off, shoulders hunched and reached for the clothes. "May I go change? I don't like see-through clothing." In a nanosecond, the knife was back on her skin, biting but not cutting. A trickle of sweat ran down her lip. "Okay, I'll wait until you're done."

She turned to face the wall while he dressed, ignoring the way it brought back memories.

_"Connie, turn the other way," snapped an angry man's voice as she did as she was told, her entire body shaking. Her face throbbed and the scratches on her leg ached. She could hear the denim rubbing against itself as he pulled his jeans up his legs. _

_"Now turn around." He was breathless. _Now, two years later, her stomach was in the same knot and her hands were shaking, tears filling her eyes. She hated him. He ruined anything, everything for her.

_She turned and he was there, in her face, his blue eyes, once beautiful and gentle, crazy and blank._ _The red scratches on his face bled slightly as did the ones on his arms. The rope was in his hand, wrapped in a figure eight. The gun was in the other. _

She huddled in on herself and squeezed her eyes shut, pressed the back on her hand against her mouth to keep the sobs at bay. Sandy whined at her master's distress and rubbed her body against the girl as a man's hand touched her.

"Damn you," she whispered, the shaking growing rapidly worse. She forced the tremors to stop and breathed rapidly in and out through her nose, just like Dr. Samuels taught her. The man grabbed her shirt and she lost it. She started to scream and cry, all that training going down the drain and she wasn't paying attention to what she was pleading about.

_He grabbed the back of her shirt and her head hit the wall. Her ankle throbbed as he pulled her back and she cracked the back of her head on the corner of the bathroom sink. "What happened to _I love you_?" he snarled in her face, spittle hitting her cheek. She couldn't focus her eyes. "What happened to _forever_?" he screamed, his eyes livid. _

_"Danny, please, please, I'm sorry! But we _have _to! This is getting out of control!" He hit her. He _hit _her. His open palm hit her face, the crack terrifying Conner. _

Sandy was barking frantically at someone outside. A prickle of pain broke through Conner's hazy, frightening memories and she saw the man had made a small cut on her arm. She pulled away from him and stepped to the mirror vanity, staring at her reflection.

Her hair was stringy and damp, her eyes ringed and puffy, her nose red and her cheeks splotchy. Her face felt tacky. She yanked at her hair and stared at her reflection in disgust. "Open up!" snarled a voice and dread washed over her as she took trembling steps to the front door. The banging continued as she nearly fell.

She was weak when she remembered the man behind her but she prayed Danny wouldn't try anything. Fighting tears, she opened the door. He stood there, drenched in rain, his eyes livid. He smelled like pot. It took her several seconds to figure out it wasn't Danny…it was one of the boys from earlier.

She relaxed as Sandy barked at him viciously, spittle flying from her jaws. "Will you shut the stupid dog up? God, and knock it off with all…the…" The kid stopped and stared over her shoulder in shock, eyes wide. "Oh, uh, sorry." He turned and trotted away and she slammed the door.

"I need sleep." She didn't remember walking away from the door or changing out of her wet clothes with the crazy man watching her or even the cut that would bleed all over her pajama top and ruin it. She didn't remember climbing into bed and crying quietly in front him, didn't remember Sandy curling up between them as he sank into the bed next to her.

She didn't remember how crazy he was. She didn't remember she didn't know or that he'd pressed a knife against her throat. She remembered how nice it felt to have her hair stroked before she fell asleep.

* * *

He stared down at the girl—no, woman—in his arms, her face gleaming with dried tears. He was surprised he hadn't killed her, especially when she went off like that.

She was hot in his arms, feverish almost and the trembling hadn't stopped. He stared down at her, wondering why she was trembling, why she looked so scared in her sleep. He stroked the dog's head and felt the soft fur on his fingertips as her master slept peacefully.

_Why was she so upset?_

**Something traumatic happened to her. **

_What?_

**It's her story to tell, not mine, sweetie. **

He sighed in frustration as he slid out of the bed. He didn't want to be here when she woke up. He picked up his clothes and pulled them into a bundle, careful not to leave any evidence that he was ever there. When he killed the teens, he didn't need her running to the police, claiming he'd been in her cabin.

He glanced back at the dog, Sandy, who stared at him calmly before hopping off the bed. The dog was massive and reached up to his hip as she trotted easily by his side, looking back every few minutes at her master.

He stared at the girl sleeping, who curled up tight into a ball as if to protect herself, before he turned away and picked up his machete. He carved his name into a place where she wouldn't notice, not now at least, before he made his way into the nighttime darkness, Sandy jogging beside him.

She accompanied him through the woods and seemed to enjoy his company. He certainly enjoyed hers. When he reached the tunnels, he crouched down and she licked his hands and face before departing, speeding back, back to her master.

He stared out after the dog, watching her leave until the next time he and the girl crossed paths or maybe they'd never cross paths after tonight. He glanced down at the machete in his hand.

**Kill them for Mommy, Jason. Except her. Keep her. She's the good girl you need. **


End file.
